


Molten Lava Mixed With Electricity

by Sourstarbursts



Series: The Complex Delicate Interpersonal Relationships Of Three Teenage Boys [4]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Character Study, Depression, Introversion, Kinda, M/M, Unrequited Love, headcanons galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-10-21 12:36:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20693642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sourstarbursts/pseuds/Sourstarbursts
Summary: “Ever since Halloween, Stan felt like he was choking. Not being able to get air in, just the constant pain of his lungs closing in on him. All he wanted was the pain to stop. As much as he appreciated Bev caring for him, all Stan wanted right now was to be alone.“——Chapter 2 is now up!!!!Read “Two Is Company But Three Will Make You Want To Rip Your Heart Out Of Your Chest” to understand this mess!!Basically Stan is in love with richie, richie is in love with Eddie. Stan is also depressed and struggling with a lot of stuff.





	1. Probably not.

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT AUTHORS NOTE PLEASE READ: so in this fic Stan drinks to deal with his unrequited crush on richie. This is taken from a lot of my own personal experience with drug and alcohol abuse when I was 15, and I want to make it clear that in no way shape or form am I implying that getting rejected will lead you to abusing alcohol. Alcoholism is an unhealthy coping mechanism of dealing with sadness and pain in your life and I want to make sure that I get across that Stan is not drinking because he got rejected, Stan is drinking because he is sad and doesnt know how to deal with it. Also i want to make it clear, neither Eddie or richie should be seen as bad guys and are no way responsible for Stan drinking. While seeing Eddie and richie together is a catalyst for Stan starting to drink more; stan is not just drinking because ‘richie doesnt love him back’. A lot more aspects come into play like the desire to be wanted and also seeing yourself as unworthy and undesirable.  
Also sorry if this seems ooc, idk i just like adding weird nuances to characters and i also love projecting my struggles onto stan cuz i relate a lot to him and i also headcanon him as a Virgo sun cancer moon like me lmao anyways into the fic!!!!! Ty for reading it means a lot kisses

When Stanley Uris first drank, he was 11.

Like most kids, the first time he drank was at a family dinner with his relatives. A small glass of wine, nothing to get him drunk, nothing to get him feeling any sort of way other than just on the edge of feeling tipsy. 

It was after his aunt saw him awkwardly sitting on the couch after dinner, not having enough courage to go play with his cousins, she loudly told his mom: “Andrea! Get your boy a glass of wine! This kid is stiff as a board!” Stan was mortified by this, having all his cooler cousins turn around and stare, finally acknowledging that he was there. 

His mom thought for a second before deciding:

“Stanny, come here.” His mom called him. He came, walked into the kitchen where his mom had been. She grabbed a glass from the cupboard and poured a small amount of red wine from the bottle the adults had been passing around. She held the glass out for Stan.

“Do you want some? You can have this.” She told him. Stan thought for a moment, then took the glass, staring down at the dark crimson liquid.

He took a drink. It was one of the foulest things he had ever tasted before in his life. It was bitter and made his face twist the second it hit his tongue. It tasted akin to what he’d imagine gasoline would taste like. It was gross. But he drank more as his aunts, uncles, and cousins stared at him.

“Can I have a glass too, mom?” Stan’s 14 year old cousin, Andy, asked.

“No honey. Alcoholism runs in the family, I don't want you starting now.”

“How come Stan gets to drink then?”

“Stanley’s a good boy. He’s responsible.”

——

When Stanley Uris first got drunk, he was 12.

It was December, one week before Hanukkah. 

After school while walking home Stan was cornered by an especially angry Henry Bowers. 

Henry grabbed the boy by the hair and shoved his face into the icy snow while calling him a ‘filthy jew’. 

Stan went home with blood, snow, and tears streaming down his face. 

He was lucky neither of his parents got home until 6. Stan really didn’t feel like explaining to either of his parents why he looked the way he did. He didn’t want his mom’s pity hug and he didn’t want his dad angrily calling up the school. 

All Stan wanted was to be alone. He wanted to put a hot towel on his face, and he wanted to be alone. 

When he finally arrived at the Uris’s house he didn’t even bother hanging up his backpack or jacket, just simply throwing them down on the couch and running into the kitchen.

He got the water as hot as possible and soaked up one of the kitchen towels with it. He put his face in the towel, it burned like a mother fucker. Such cold skin touching something hot always felt painful, but he kept pressing. It would soon start to feel better, soothing Stan’s small cuts and cold nose. 

Stan sighed into the towel once more and then set it down on the countertop. 

He was caught between the desire to be somewhere different, and the desire to be someone different. Maybe one day it will get better, but it certainly isn’t looking to great right now to be the kind of person he was in the kind of place he was in. 

Stan’s eyes fell upon his parents liquor cabinet. He remembers that family dinner last year, that glass of wine he was allowed.

He remembers the feeling drinking gave him. How everything in that moment felt less heavy, how he felt light. How that constant feeling of dread felt less. How that looming cloud over his head felt a little less dark grey and instead more of a watered down grey. 

He pulls out a bottle of vodka. He grabs a shot glass and pours himself a shot like how he’d seen in the movies. 

It smelled so much worse than wine, and when he threw it back, it tasted much worse too. 

He hurried to grab a glass and fill it with tap water. The water was still hot from prior but it didn’t matter, he’d do anything to get that taste out of his mouth. 

After a solid minute of washing down the taste, Stan leaned back, processing how he currently felt. That one shot felt better than that entire glass of wine he had when he was 11. 

Stan eyed the bottle, was he really going to do that again?

He did, he downed another shot and washed it down with water.

Then he did it again.

And again.

And again.

He did it until he knew for sure he was drunk. As carefully as he could manage, he put the bottle and shot glass into the cabinet, and then he went upstairs. 

Stan decided in that moment, being drunk was the best feeling in the world. It felt like a fuzzy warm blanket wrapped around his mind. It felt like every single one of his movements were filled with molten lava mixed with electricity, if that made sense to anyone. 

Laying down on his neatly made bed, Stan puts in his Walkman and turns on some of The Cure. Dopey smile strung across his face, Stan wraps himself in a hug. Rubbing his arms, rocking his body side to side. Being drunk felt good, but being drunk while slowly moving felt even better.

Even in his drunken haze, Stan knew that this would be a problem for him.

——

Stanley Uris is now on the edge of 16, and all he’s been able to think about since Halloween was what he saw. 

It was currently Monday, the first day back to school since the party. The first day he’ll be seeing Richie and Eddie since the party. 

Bev’s has been keeping him company this weekend, coming over each day to play video games with him. Coming over to make sure he isn’t just lying in bed, thinking about what he saw. 

Instead he’s playing video games, thinking about what he saw. 

Bev knew everything she was doing wasn’t working that well, but it was better for Stan to be here with her then alone. 

Ever since Halloween, Stan felt like he was choking. Not being able to get air in, just the constant pain of his lungs closing in on him. All he wanted was the pain to stop. As much as he appreciated Bev caring for him, all Stan wanted right now was to be alone.

——

The first half of the school day was fine. Stan liked school, he liked to learn and he liked how it distracted him from whatever he was currently feeling. He was still hurting like a mother fucker, but the constant brain stimulation eased it up. Just a bit.

Lunch was the issue. He knew that lunch would ruin the rest of his day. 

When he sat down at the losers table, Eddie and Richie were already there, talking Bev and Ben. Stan placed his tray next to Bill who smiled widely at his arrival. Eddie and Richie made eye contact with him, but quickly looked away. Probably still embarrassed to have been caught drunk with each other’s tongues down their throats. Bev smiled sympathetically at Stan. Stan said nothing, just going straight to eating.

“S-s-tan, did you go home early on f-f-Friday? I didn’t see you when I l-l-left.” Bill asked.

“I went home early too! How come you didn’t notice?!” Bev asks laughing. 

“I-i-i assumed y-you went w-with Ben, h-he said bye to m-m-me before leaving.” Bill explained. “U-unlike Stan, R-r-r-richie, or E-e-eddie.”

“I didn’t realize how late it was! I had to immediately leave before my mom called the police and organized a search party for me!” Eddie defended.

“Whatever. C-could have a-at least said b-bye.” Bill said smiling. “W-when d-did you leave?” Bill turned to Stan.

Stan was toying with his food, side of his face resting in his palm. He shrugged, not looking up. 

“I don’t really remember. I was pretty drunk.” He lied.

“You don’t remember anything?” Richie questions sheepishly. Stan knew what he was getting at. Stan looks up.

“I remember some.” He states, Richie looks away.

“Do you remember Amy? She was totally giving you eyes all night long, dude.” Eddie chimes in.

“Whatever.” Stan says, going back to his food. God, he really doesn’t want to be here right now. He wants to be alone in his room, with his Walkman on and fireball whisky in his system.

Eddie shifts uncomfortably, Bev clears her throat.

“Did you see Bill dancing on the kitchen table, Stan?” Bev asks, Bill groans shoving his face into his hands. 

This makes Stan scoff. “Really?” He asks.

“He was doing the fucking robot to Bizare Love Triangle.” Bev laughs, Bill groans even louder.

——

It was 10 pm when Stan’s parents went to bed, it was 10:15 when Stan snuck downstairs and grabbed a bottle of liquor from the cabinet.

He did his regular drinking routine. Throw back some shots, return the bottle downstairs, lock the door, and put in his Walkman.

Everything felt 100 times better. The choking feeling from before was soon replaced with the melting feeling of drunkenness. He giggled to himself as the sound of Words Don’t Come Easy by Martin Cooks fills his ears.

—— 

20 minutes into his ‘alone time’, as he would like to call it, stan hears a knock. Then a louder knock. Then a louder one. 

Stan takes off his headphones and pauses the music. The knocking is coming from his window.

He slugs over to his window to find richie outside. Stan smiles so hard his cheeks burn, he lets out a loud laugh.

“Richie!” Stan sings. Richie furrows his brows, he motions for Stan to open the window. 

Stan follows Richie’s instructions, fumbling with the latch a few times before finally getting it open. With all his strength he pushes the window up for Richie to climb in. Richie proceeds to hop down into Stan’s room.

“Richie.” Stan says in between giggles, “what are you doin here?” 

“Are you okay? Why are you talking like that?” Richie asks.

“I feel like a million dollars, baby.” Stan slurs. Richie soon realizes what’s happening here.

“Oh my god. Are you drunk?” Richie nervously laughs.

“Maybe.” Stan giggles.

“Why are you drunk? It’s a Monday night and you’re alone.”

“Best time to drink.” Stan throws himself down onto the bed, lying on his back. Richie hesitates before laying down next to him. Richie picks up the Walkman laying on the bed.

“What are you listening to?”

“Mix you gave me.” Stan says, closing his eyes.

“Aww you kept it? From 7th grade?” Richie smiles.

“Course i kept it.”

Richie nods. He lets silence fill the air for a moment, not sure how to ask his next question. Or what question to ask.

“You seemed distant at school today. I wanted to see if you were alright.”

“I’m not alright.” Stan smiles. Richies eyebrows furrow.

“What’s wrong?” 

“Don’t wanna talk to you about it.” 

“Why don’t you want to talk to me about it?” Richie’s eyebrows furrow even more, hurt by his best friend’s words.

“You don’t want to hear it.” Stan laughs. Richie slightly relaxes, maybe it just something embarrassing. Maybe Stan just keeps getting awkward erections in class.

“I do want to hear it! I want to hear whatever you are willing to tell me! Stanley, you are my best friend and I want to be here for you!” Richie exclaims.

“I don’t want to be your best friend.” Stan says. Ouch. That hurt.

“What?” Richie whispers.

“I. Don’t. Want. To. Be. Your. Best. Friend.” Stan says over pronouncing each syllable. Richie feels as if stan just squeezed lemon juice into his cut then started repeatedly punching said cut.

“W-why not?” Richie might just cry.

“I’m in love with you.” Stan slurs. 

Oh.

Oh.

“You gonna say something?” Stan asks.

This wasn’t expected. 

“I- Stan- what? Why? Why are you-..?”

“Same reason Eddie is.”

What does Richie even say to that? What can he say?

“You should probably go now.” Stan tells him, finally turning to look at Richie’s shocked face. 

Richies quiet before slowly nodding. He walks to the window, just before climbing out he turns back to Stan:

“Can we talk about this tomorrow? Please?” Richie asks.

“Probably not.” Stan says. 

Richie says nothing, just stares at Stan before turning around.

“I’m not mad. I hope you know that Stan…. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” And with that, Richie leaves.

Stan falls asleep shortly after, with the sound of Separate Ways by Journey playing at low volume in his headphones.


	2. Just Go Back to Sleep

The feeling of dread could easily be described as the sinking feeling Stan felt as soon as he woke up on Tuesday morning.

His head was aching, hangovers always felt like a pain of no other. That was probably the worst part about drinking. That, and the fact that drinking is what caused him to confess his romantic feelings towards his life long best friend who he knew for a fact did not return them back. That was pretty bad as well.

This was probably bound to happen eventually, Stan thought. Richie probably would have figured it out sometime soon, Richie was insanely smart despite his clear lack of common sense. But, out of all the ways his secret could have been spilled, he would not have guessed it would have been because his own doings. That he would have confessed while drunk.

It wasn’t that Stan didn’t drink a lot, he did, that was definitely something he did often. Stan wouldn’t have guessed he would have confessed drunk because he usually doesn't drink around others.

As well as most of the other things Stan did for fun, drinking was a personal activity he did alone. Getting drunk was something Stan did to relax, and Stan usually can't relax with other people around. 

Stan finally got the strength to push himself out of bed and turn off the blaring alarm sat on his bedside table. He grabs the bottle of ibuprofen from the top drawer of said bedside table, and swallows two of the red tablets dry.

He hears the rattle of his locked door trying to be opened. He turns around to stare at the door, almost waiting for his mother’s angry voice to come.

“Stan, how many times do I have to tell you to stop locking this door at night.” 

Stan slugs over to the door, unlocking it and turning it open. His mother stands in the doorway wearing her big fluffy rob and an annoyed face. Her frown deepens as soon as she sees her son.

“Honey, you look awful, are you okay?” She reaches up to hold a hand against her son’s forehead. Stan might have only been 5’8, but his mother was even shorter standing at only 4’11.

Stan says nothing, too exhausted and hungover to even speak.

“Honey?” She repeats.

“No. I don’t feel good.” He says in a small voice. Her frown deepens even more.

“What’s wrong, Stanley? Are you sick?” Stan says nothing, just stares at her.

He doesn't realise until his mother moves her palm onto his cheek that he was now crying. A soft stem of tears coming out of his watering eyes.

“Why are you crying?” She asks quietly.

“I’m tired. I’m really tired, mom.” Stan chokes out.

“Honey, what’s wrong why are you acting like this? What’s wrong?” She presses.

Stan doesn't know what to say. How could he even begin to describe what is wrong? Everything is wrong.

The way his brain works is wrong. The way he experiences life and emotions and happiness is wrong. The way that nothing feels good except vodka is wrong. The way he feels as if everything is just constantly pressing down on his chest and suffocating him is wrong. The way he loves is wrong. The way he loves Richie is wrong. The way that he expected anyone to ever love someone like him is wrong.

“I don’t know.” He decides on.

“What do you mean?”

“Can I go back to bed?” He asks.

His mother presses her lips together, she then nods her head.

“Okay, honey. Go get some sleep. I’ll call the school and tell them you’ll be absent today.” 

Stan closes his door and heads back to his bed. 

In his inventory of ‘Things that makes Stan feel good’ he has in his head, he quickly takes off Richie. Now leaving only two things: drinking and his bed.

——

Stanley Uris had a difficult time explaining the feeling of having sadness so bad that all you could do was melt into your bed. Partly to do with the fact that that sadness didn’t really even feeling like sadness. It was more numb, but not numb enough that you didn’t feel it. It was a numbness that made everything else numb as well. It felt like his brain was inside of a box made entirely out of frosted windows, if that even made sense. 

As he lay in his bed, Stan replays last night over and over again. 

He imagines a universe where it went differently. A universe where as soon as he uttered the phrase “I’m in love with you.”, Richie would smash his lips against Stan’s. He imagines a universe where someone wants him too.

Why couldn’t he be the kind of boy that others want? That others desired? That others liked? Why was he born the way he was? Why couldn’t he have been born more outgoing and adventurous and handsome and charismatic? Why couldn’t he have been born being capable of being loved by others?

Stan presses his face into his pillow.

Just go back to sleep.

——

Stan is awaken to a knock at his window. He slowly sits up from the comfortable dent left in his bed. He is met with the sight of Eddie tapping quickly at the glass, he’s bathed in the golden light from the setting sun. Must be real late. Or at least real late to sleep in to.

Stan considers going over to shut the blinds and then curling back up into his bed. He sighs before deciding against it, slowly he stands up and opens the window. Stan stands back so Eddie can come in.

“Can I come in?” Eddie asks.

“I didn’t open the window to tell you to fuck off, if thats what you’re asking.” 

Eddie hesitantly steps in, dusting his clothes off. 

“You weren’t at school.” Eddie comments.

“Nope.” Stan replies, he sits down at the edge of his unmade bed. He’s tired from this interaction already.

“Richie told me about what you said.” Eddie says quietly, sitting down next to Stan.

Stan is too tired to even be mad at this.

“He shouldn’t have.”

Eddie looks down at his hands, almost guilty. “You’re right, he shouldn’t have. That stuff is no ones business but your own. Not even Richie’s. I’m sorry.” 

Stan sighs at this.

“It’s not your fault. You don't have to apologize. It’s not even Richie’s fault either.” Stan assures him, Eddie nods.

They’re both quiet for a moment. Eddie not knowing what to say and Stan having nothing to say. The silence isn’t really awkward but it’s not like the usual silence the two of them have. It’s heavy.

“Do you hate me?” Eddie asks softly.

“No, Eddie I don’t hate you.” Stan sighs yet again. While the statements true- Stan does not hate Eddie- Eddie feels as if Stan is lying to him.

That silence is back. That thick, heavy silence. 

It will soon be replaced by the sound of small breathy hiccups, at this moment Stan realizes Eddie’s crying beside him.

“Wha-“ Stan starts.

“I’m so sorry! I don’t want you to hate me! I don’t want this to ruin our friendship! You're one of the bestest friends I’ve had in my entire life, Stan! I love you so much! I wish it didn’t work out like this and I’m so sorry you had to find out like this. I know how much you’re hurting once I saw Richie just TALKING to a boy and I was so hurt by THAT I have no idea how awful this must feel and I’m so sorry and-“ 

“Eddie, Eddie. Calm down.” Stan grabs the boy’s shoulders. Eddie stops his loud, gross sobbing to stare up at Stan. 

“I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. You’re one of my best friends too.” Stan smiles despite the tears that began to prickle in the corners of his eyes. This causes Eddie to cry even harder, throwing himself into Stan’s arms.

Stan hugs him tight. Burying his face into the smaller boy’s shoulder, he lets himself cry. Stan cries for himself, for all the hurt he’s been feeling these past few years and maybe even all the hurt he’s been feeling his entire life.

Stan cries for Eddie, one of his best friends. How much hurting Stan- even if it wasn’t intentional and out of his control- hurt him. 

Stan cries for their friendship. As much Stan wants to tell himself that they’ll be able to move past this, that they’ll go back to normal, they probably won’t.

As he cries he thinks about being 10 again. Before he ever drank. Before he started feeling how he did. Before he fell in love with Richie. Even before Eddie fell in love with Richie. He thinks about being 10 again, and not feeling things as heavy as he did right now. 

He thinks about how he didn’t worry about feeling unlovable then. How he didn’t constantly think about the reasons Eddie got to be loved and he didn’t. 

He thinks about being 10 again, how he didn’t know how good being drunk felt. And how much better it felt then what he was feeling right now.

**Author's Note:**

> I hate This but it took me like two hours so Im uploading anyways


End file.
